D - A Companion Novel To Margaret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind
by Corinthian Leathers
Summary: GWTW as seen through the eyes of one of its most intriguing minor characters (to me, anyhow), Dilcey - Pork's wife and Prissy's mother. What was life like at Twelve Oaks before the War? What happened to "the elegant Mrs. Wilkes"? Was there a rival for Pork's affections at Tara? Did Scarlett O'Hara ever go hungry again? All of these questions and more will attempt to be answered.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

January 1897

Some folks hear the voice of God they whole life. I reckon I was always one of them folks. When I was a chile, it was like a lut whisper, almos' like the way a chile whisper to anudden. Then, as I got older, it turnt into a faint hum, a sweet lut melody what kept you calm an' cooled yo' hot, young blood ev'ry now an' again. Later on, it become a small voice, one what'll give you strength when you weak, an' straighten you out when you wayward. Now that I'm ole, it almos' like the sound of rushin' water, a beautiful sad song of water an' time passin' quicker an' quicker; a song of mournin' an' rejoicin' all at once.

I'm an ol' woman now, nearly seventy-two. I done seen a lot of suns goin' down, days of joy, days of sorrow, days of War an' days of Peace. Done known love and sorrows a-plenty, chile, an' for ev'ry soul I done seen come into Creation, I done seen the same 'mount of 'em go out of it. I was forty years a slave an' I'm goin' on thirty-two free. Bless God, I likes the free better! But I see Time windin' down now, though. Time to tell the young folks what I know. Pass 'long this wisdom what was gave to me by the by from so many folks I miss nowadays.

I say to myself, I say: "Dilcey, wount be long now 'fore you in Heaven with yo' Pork, an' you'll see yo' Ma and yo' Pa, an' all your dead chiluns an' ol' friends. Bless God, it gonna be a happy time!"

But so much of me wanna live, too! Got chiluns an' grandchiluns an' great-grands to live for. Still ain't quite used to the idea of bein' free, wanna go on a lut longer an' see what all kindza free I can get. I reckon I always did have too much of that ambition, - the audacity of wountin' to live an' wountin' to be free. Darkies wasn't s'posed to have that; white folks say you too flighty an' full of yo'self. But my granny, Africa Woman, she yuster call it, "A passion for livin'." My burnin' come from always wountin' tuh help folks, though. To watch over my fambly an' friends an' make what I could outah myself, too. Other folks got that same force, but theirs wount lettum slow down, they always gotta be durin' somethin' or goin' somewhere. Two folks in partic'lar put me in mind of that: Miz Scarlett an' Cap'n Butler. They yuster leave me in a quandary the way they lived, chile. But they was who they was, an' I am who I am. I'm Dilcey. This is Tara. My home. All I know.

My husban' was Abner, but folks 'round here knowed him as "Pork". He yuster be the valet an' butler for ol' Mist' Gerald O'Hara back durin' slave time. Mist' Gerald, he was Irish, a furrener but quality 'cause he married quality from Savannah later on, an' he won this place (an' Pork, too) playin' poker with one of President Polk's cousins on one of them islands down there one night. Mist' Gerald say he didn't like the name "Abner", say it sounded like an Orangeman's name, whatever that was, but, at the same time, he couldn't call him "Polk", neither, 'cause he couldn't twist his fat lut Irish tongue to say it. When they come up here to Tara, ev'rybody in Clayton County hear Mist' Gerald hollar, "Pork! Pork!" when he was really tryin' tur say "Polk! Polk!" The name just stuck, I reckon.

Anyhow, my Pork been dead nigh on ten years now. I miss him as much dead as I loved him when he was livin'. But I thank God, 'cause, in the end, I had me the best husban' in the world. We wasn't on the same page sometime. Hell, sometime we wasn't even in the same book, chile. But Pork was _mines_! I _knew _he loved me. He had to convince me of it, but he really did. Thank God. Most folks don't never have that kinda love an' its a mighty sad thing 'cause, if they did, the world shoal would be a sight happier than it is. Life, no matter how bad, allus better if you got someone to share joys an' sorrows with. I had that and I was bless among women 'cause of it. Forty years of lovin' a man makes him part of you. When Pork die, he take a part of me with him to the grave and a part of him live because I still breathe.

I come to Clayton County when I was fourteen after bein' sole down from Carolina. The Wilkes fambly bought me an', after a while, I become head woman of the place. I learnt how to midwife from ol' Aint Rachel, who was like a mama to me. I got so good at birthin' the Wilkses loant me out to a lot of the places 'round here to midwife. I bought many of the chiluns in these parts, white an' black, intur the world for a long, long while. Miz Scarlett an' Miz Suellen, Miz India an' Miz Honey, a couple of them Tarleton girls, Big Sam, 'Lige, Prophet…chile, I brung 'em all here with the Good Lord's help. When ever things got bad an' Doctah Fontaine couldn't come, they'd fetch ol' Dilcey an' I did what I could. Only lost two chiluns the whole time. One was Miz Anne Wilkzes' last baby girl; the udden was Big Sam's oldes' boy. Both born dead. Couldn't be helped.

Even though he was sweet on me for years and I was back an' forth with him, I finally marry Pork an' come to Tara the day 'fore Lincoln call for troops. That was April 1861. We stayed on here through Jubilee, helpin' Miz Scarlett, an' later on, Mr. Will an' Miz Suellen, run Tara. We spent a brief spell in 'Lanta, me tendin' to Mist' Ashley an' Miz Melly's place an' watchin' their boy, Mist' Beau. Down the street, Pork an' Prissy was at Miz Scarlett's an' Cap'n Butler's place. When Miz Melly die, I decide to leave. Pork, he say he wanna join me. I hate to leave Mist' Ashley, but Miz India was hellfire to work for. I couldn't take it. Pork, he say he tired of Miz Scarlett an' Mist' Rhett arguin' an' carryin' on. Both of us getting' ole an' wount peace. Back to Tara we come in '73 an' I done been here ev'rysince.

I live at the top of what yuster be the ol' plantation street at Tara, what runs to the left an' down the hill behind the Big House, in the cabin what yuster be the overseer's place. There nine famblys, all colored, on Tara now, sharecroppin' the cotton an' corn, tendin' the cows, doin' this an' that. They got cabins dotted all over the place. Some built on the foundations of the ol' slave cabins the Yankees burnt. A few of us womens goes up an' cleans an' tends the ol' Big House for Mist' Wade an' Miz Miranda.

I just be up there nowadays; all the young gals hollar: "Aint Dilcey, you gettin' too ole! You sat down an' rest! We got it!"

"Naw," I say. "I ain't dead yet!"

My youngest boy, Mancie, he the head foreman now, work right 'longside Mist' Wade like they yuster play 'longside each other as chiluns. Situation ain't the same, though, an' I tell him so.

"Son," I warn. "You cain't laugh an' joke with Mist' Wade like you could when y'all was chiluns. Ain't that way no moe. You gotta be careful."

Mancie, he just nod the slow an' easy the way he always do. Don't much bother my baby. He take it all in stride, just like his pa did.

"You an' Pa teach me right." He say. "I know no matter what the past is, he a white man an' I'm a colored. No 'mount of good times an' fun gonna change that. I keep my good eye open."

Thank God he learnt easy an' not hard like his brothers.

Outtah all my chiluns, Mancie remind me the most of his pa. He my only chile by Pork. Though he tall, dark red an' flat-nosed like me, as far as ways, he Pork through an' through, honey. He smart but he don't always let it show.

"Cain't let it show, Mama." He always say. "You know how it is. White folks gen'rally cain't stand no smart nigger, 'specially if they thinks a nigger might be smarter than they is."

The story of my life, I say.

But Mancie _is_ smart. The smartest thing he done yet was marry Lut Elizabeth, ol' Big Sam an' Bet's daughter. Big Sam an' them chose the last name "Fairfax" after Appomattox 'cause Big Sam's mama come from Fairfax County, Virginia. We call ourselves "Jones" 'cause its a plain name. Its hard for folks to track you down if trouble's after you what if you got a plain name. Anyhow, that made Betty's full name "Elizabeth Fairfax Jones", which sound mighty up-market for a colored gal, but I reckon that's what makes Betty like it so much.

All us in the fambly all calls her just plain ol' Betty. I love her 'cause she put me in mind of me when I was younger. Strong and determine to make the world mind her no matter what it might say. Child, a fly cain't buzz or a bug crawl on this place without her knowin' it. She small, like her ma was, but she strong, like her daddy an' grandmamma was. She got skin such a pretty shade of brown it look like what the Bible say 'bout Jesus: it look like polished brass. She don't talk common, either, an' set a big stoe on her an' Mancie chiluns carryin' theyselves better. She even get on me from time to time.

"Don't say "nigger", Mama Dilcey. Or even "darky"." she say all the time. "Ain't been no niggers or darkies for real since the Surrender. We's colored folks an' gotta call ourselves colored folks, too. How other folks s'posed to respect you if you don't respect yo'self?"

"Go 'head on, then, chile." I say with a laugh and a toss of my hand. I don't pay her no mind for real, though, 'specially when it come to my own mouth what the Lord gave me an' me alone.

Mancie an' Betty got three chiluns an' they lives here with me in my cabin 'cause it's the biggest house on the place save for Tara itself. I do most the housework an' cookin' down here. Betty an' the gals be up at the Big House. Mancie an' the boy be out in the fields somewhere. Even now, in the winter, there's still a-plenty to do on a big ole place like this.

Violet, she the oldest chile an' helps tend to the chiluns up at the Big House. If I recall right, she'll be seventeen this year. Lord, she shoal is a pretty thing and, watch out world, she know it, too! Smooth skin and turned up sparklin' eyes, full smooth lips and a long, graceful neck, nice figure with good weight in good places. She 'bout the ripest peach on any tree outside of 'Lanta, I reckon. Lord, and all the bucks from all over her just swarm around her like bees 'round a hive come Sundays after church. She don't pay them any mind, though. Says she wounts to marry a city man. I say, "Whatever, chile. You don't know…" and laugh at her. She just roll her eyes an' pay me no mind. She got ways 'bout like my Prissy did at that age, all full of answers without even knowin' half the questions. I get confused like old folks do sometime an' even calls her by her auntee's name.

Next come Agnes. She the family cut-up, always got a joke or a riddle, always during her best to make folks laugh an' feel at ease. She ain't as fine as Violet. She wide-eyed an' as skinny as a stick, but she got moe spirit an' life to her, seem to me. She a couple of years behind Violet but she got her a boy what comes to see her pretty regular. Mancie ain't too keen on Fred, either, 'cause he one of ol' Able Wynder's mixed grandchiluns and Lord they's 'bout a rowdy passel of folks. Ev'rytime you turn 'round one of 'em either runnin' from the white folks, runnin' from darkies or just plain runnin' they mouths an' startin' mess. But Agnes, she a good girl an' I don't worry 'bout her. Who knows? Fred Wynder might be just a passin' notion to the chile.

Now, I know it ain't the Lord's way for a grandma to have a favorite grandchile, but I'm sorry I just cain't help it. Abner (we call him "Lut Pork") is my pride an' joy. He the spittin' image of his mama but got his daddy's dark skin an' big eyes. He got his gran'daddy's chin an' foehead like they was stolen from him, always had, that's why Mancie name him after Pork. He just turnt twelve hear a month back but he got all the seriousness an' sterness of a lut ole man. That boy is a ole soul; he done been here befoe. He an' I can be out in the orchards or walkin' 'long by ourself an' I nearly can talk to him like I can a grown person, an' he respond back the same way, too. He is the one I worry 'bout. He too smart for his place in life. I'm scared the white folks might get him.

"Granny, why you look at me so hard sometimes?" he ask me sometimes. He ain't nothin' but eight but got ways like a lut ol' man seem like to me. "You look at me like I make you sad."

"Aw child, I just look at you an' see plenty good Light around you an' see plenty Dark after you; that's all."

I say it with a chuckle, hopin' he wount take on too serious about it. It don't work.

"Aw, Granny," he sass a little. "You sound like an ol' Injun when you say stuff like that!"

"An ol' Injun is what I am, boy an' don't you get all high-post darky on me 'cause you one-fourth Injun yourself! You hear?"

He laugh an' nod, then he give me a hug 'round the neck an' plant a sweet kiss on my cheek.

My grandbabies is good chiluns, an', most times, I leave they rearin' an' raisin' to they ma an' pa. I try to help the chiluns with they readin', though, an' I try to be as discrete as I can since the white folks 'round here mighty peculiar 'bout a darky knowing how. I been teachin' all my life, I reckon. I taught my two oldes' boys, Linus an' Rex, how to read when we was slaves over at Twelve Oaks Plantation. Then Prissy an' Pork I teach here at Tara durin' an' after the War. Mancie went to the Freedman's School when we was livin' in 'Lanta. But now we all back out here at Tara, me an' Betty teach the chiluns. Prissy wount Mancie an' Betty to send 'em to her in Nashville so they can go to school. Prissy know better with that mess. She know Betty ain't gonna part with her chiluns. They fights about it ev'rytime Prissy come back to Tara an' visit. I stay out of it. I done got too ole for fambly mess now.

But mess keeps right on happenin', with or without me bein' in it.

We all knowed it was comin'; it done been talked about for months, ev'rysince Miz Scarlett die. I reckoned it was gonna happen later on, closer to springtime, just befoe the crops went in. But, naw. Mist' Wade come down early this morning with the news. He done fount someone to buy Tara lock, stock an' barrel.

"Don't you fret none, Aint Dilcey." He say all calm, hat in his hand, showing me the kind of respect most white men don't show in colored folks' houses. "The new owner say you ain't gotta go nowhere if'n you don't want to. He say that you an' Mancie an' Betty an' the chiluns can stay here forever for all he pleased. Said he can work out a contract with Mancie to sharecrop if he wanna 'cause he got his own foreman he gonna send to run the place. He already know how good y'all done been to us over the years, told him I couldn't rightly sell Tara to him if I knew y'all was gonna be maltreated."

I look up from my chair an' smile a "Thank You." at Mist' Wade. He shoal did turn out to be a fine man, which, truth be told, shock the hell outhah me considerin' the hell he was raised 'round. Still, his folks shoal is proud of him and I know it there's angels in Heaven what yuster be folks, his pa, his Aunt Melly an' his Grandma Ellen look down an' rejoice. Some of them other folks? Lord, don't get me to guessing if they made it into the Kingdom much less taking the trouble to look down here if they did.

Mist' Wade ain't 'specially tall, but slender, like his daddy was, with big brown eyes an' big ol' ears. He wear his light brown curly hair a lut longer to cover 'em up some. His eyebrows swoop up in thick arches, like his mama's did, an' he got her pointed chin, too. He got the beginnin's of Mist' Gerald O'Hara's gut, an' his legs is a lut bandy like his ole Irishman granddaddy's was, too.

To me, he take on in manners more after his uncle, Mist' Will Benteen, than he do his daddy or his mama. He got a plain way of talk, real direct an' simple like a man what works land oughta. To not know him, you would think he was the educated son of a Cracker 'stead of the son of a Hamilton or the grandson of Savannah rich French folks. He got a right smart piece of money, but don't let it swell his head none. He neat an' mannerable, but not sissified like his pa was or slick like Miz Scarlett's last husband, Cap'n Butler, was. He Tara an' Clayton County through an' through, like the Flint River itself. Country, but good an' clean an' smart country. I reckon that was from Mist' Will bein' the only man outside of ol' Mist' Gerald who ever took a true notion to teach him as a chile.

Mist' Charles Hamilton was his mama's firs' husband an' died in the War befoe Mist' Wade was even born. Mist' Wade set a big stoe on his pa an' his sword hang on the wall right there in the big front parlor of the Big House. Miz Melly, his pa's sister, tell Mist' Wade so much about his daddy while he growin' up an' he talk so much 'bout him now that most folks what wouldn't know him would 'spect Charles Hamilton to ride up in a surrey at any minute 'stead of bein' dead for thirty years. It's good, though. Chiluns, - 'specially boy chiluns -should always know somethin' 'bout they daddies, even if they dead. God knows Miz Scarlett never talked 'bout him to Mist' Wade.

Mist' Wade's mama's second husband was Mist' Frank Kennedy, whose stoe Miz Scarlett 'ventually turnt into Kennedy's Department Stoe in downtown Atlanta. Mist' Wade said he couldn't rightly stand Mist' Frank, said he didn't like the way he let Miz Scarlett boss him. Mist' Frank was Miz Ella's daddy, but he got shot in the head huntin' niggers one night with Cap'n Butler when Miz Ella was still just a baby. Some say Mist' Frank was kilt by ol' Cap'n Butler hisself so he could marry Miz Scarlett. Naw, I say. Cap'n Butler wouldn't do that to ol' Mist' Frank. Just the fact Miz Scarlett didn't love him woulda been enough vengeance for Cap'n Butler to live on.

Next come in the line come Cap'n Bulter hisself, who Mist' Wade liked alright, but he always used to say Cap'n Butler was so stuck on Miz Scarlett an' his two Butler half-sister, it didn't leave much room in Cap'n's heart for him or Miz Ella. Plus, Miz Scarlett an' Cap'n Butler carried on somethin' awful back in them days, gettin' drunk an' arguin' an' fightin'. Then there was Miz Scarlett's miscarriage an' po' lut Miz Bonnie getting' thrown from that pony she ought notta had in the first place as short as she was. Some of the things Pork an' Pallas an' Prissy told me 'bout them times was enough to make you cry.

Mist' Wade growed up an' married Miz Miranda Fontaine 'bout seven years ago. Miz Miranda is a nervous little bird like her grandmama, who we yuster call "Young Miz" back in slave times, was. She always frettin' an' fussin', runnin' 'round like a hen with her head chopped off tryin' to solve a thousand problems not knowin' she makin' ten thousand moe 'cause she wount sit the hell down somehwere. Bless her soul, the sweet young chile mean well, though. Mist' Wase usually let her have her way with most things. Either that, or he just flat out lie to her an' let her believe she gettin' her way 'til she plumb forget an' he do what he wount to. Po' Miz Miranda, she so busy comin' an' goin' most time she don't know the difference nohow.

She an Mist' Wade got two boys named Charles an' Joe, an' a lut girl named Alice, all named after dead kinfolks. (Seems like ev'rybody, white an' colored, is namin' babies after dead folks these days. I reckon it's the fashion. I don't like it; seem creepy to me. Seem to me like it mark chiluns, namin' 'em after dead folks, 'specially dead folks who was dead befoe the baby was even born. Didn't even like it with Lut Pork at first, but oh well). The Hamilton boys is fine-lookin' lut gentlemans an' they both 'bout my Lut Pork's age. Mist' Charles, he likes to be out in the woods lookin' at all kindza animals an' bugs, say he got a hankerin' to be a scientist but his Ma says naw, tells him all the time nothin' but sissys an' Yankees is scientists. Mist' Joe, he ain't nothin' but a lut sportsman, allus climbin' trees an' jumpin' fences an' ain't never seen a horse he didn't love. He love 'em so much I s'pose that's why he insist on smellin' like one half the time. Sweet as a boy can be but Lord if he ain't the laziest lut thing ever born at Tara since his Aint Suellen. Ain't never seen a chile so disincline to bathe! And that girl? Miz Alice? Lord, if that ain't a mess in pinafores an' crinolines! Bossy an' opinionated an' allus quick to tell you what she is an' ain't gonna do, even to her own Ma and Pa. She get it honest, though. Her grandma on her pa's side Scarlett O'Hara an' her great-grandma on her ma's side Ol' Miz Fontaine. Heaven knows there wasn't too many white womens in Georgia what had more gumption – or gall.

"So, Mist' Will, what you an' Miz 'Randa gonna do now dat y'all done sole de place?" ask Mancie.

"Well, Mancie," he say. "The wife done always had a hankerin' to move into town. Ella, Aunt Suellen, Uncle Ashley, Suzie Q. an' ev'rybody else is there. Uncle Rhett wount me to come to Charleston an' both me an' Randa loved it there, but, I dunno. Aint Pauline and Aint Eulalie done been dead for years an' I can't rightly stan' the sight of Uncle Rhett since Mother die. He just an ole shell. You know he always say he thought God was wrong for takin' Mother 'fore him."

"Aw Mist' Wade," I say, patting him on the forearm. "You know Cap'n Butler set a mighty big stoe on yo' mama, an' she 'preciated him, too, in the end. They had they ups an' downs, but by an' by, they had a lot of good years together 'fore Miz Scarlett got sick with that cancer."

"I wish Uncle Rhett had just stayed on here like I ast him to. He too ole to be alone. Cat so busy bein' the grande dame of Charleston she barely give him a second thought. He should be here, with folks what'll care for him, but no! He gotta be there with that spoilt mess sister of mines. He as stubborn as a mule, just like Mother was!"

"A mule in horse's harness!" I laugh outright. "Member how yo' ol' Mammy used to call him an' yo' Mama that, Mist' Wade?"

I felt strange just then, thinkin' 'bout ol' Mammy. Pallas been dead twenty years an' here us was still laughin' at her tantrums like still waddlin' her big ol' self 'round the place, eyes roillin' an' lip poked out. Lord. how me an' that heifer there would go at it!

Mist' Wade got a far-off look in his eye an' smile a lut. He look down an' pat me on the shoulder an' say, "I shoal do remember, Aint Dilcey. I shoal do. If there was anybody who could get ol' Scarlett O'Hara mad, it shoal was ol' Mammy, that was certain."

"Yes Lawdy," I agree. "but doan you get vexed none at Cap'n Butler, Mist' Wade. This here place, Tara? Lord, it ain't nothin' 'but yo' Mama. That house, this land, all of it. Ev'ry tree an' ev'ry field. I know if I can see it, Cap'n Butler did, too, when he was here while Miz Scarlett was dyin'. It woulda kilt Cap'n Butler in two days, stayin' on here an' seein' her in ev'rything. Miz Cat did right by makin' him go back widder to Charleston. That's his world. That's why when he leave Miz Scarlett she went to him there 'cause when you fightin' for somethin', you fights for it on its home turf to show you really wounts it. But Cap'n Butler, he ain't got long, Mist' Will. I saw it. There, he can die in peace an' wount have to be haunted by your mama."

Ev'ry living thing in the room, Mancie, 'Lizabeth, Mist' Wade, the chiluns, even the dog, give me a queer look, but I keep on.

"Sometime you need to break from the past completely just to survive." I say.

Mist' Wade look down at me with a warm, genuine smile.

"Aint Dilcey, you always been good to my folks, an' you stayed on after Appomattox when most of the darkies had left this place. Why?"

"Well, Mist' Wade…" I begin, then my eyes wander a little. I look outside the window and point to the front yard. "Mist' Wade, you see them there two oak trees yonder."

"Yes'm."

"Well, them two trees is separate trees but they was planted so close together that now you rightly cain't tell one from the udden 'cause they limbs an' roots done got entangled with each other. If you cut down one, you gonna kill the both of 'em 'cause they feeds off each other."

He shake his head an' nod, but I could tell he still didn't quite get my meanin'.

"Mr. Wade, them trees is like us here at Tara. We all, yo folks an' my folks, done been 'round each other for so long and done been through so much together that we's all tangled an' a part of each other, like them trees."

Ev'rybody in the room laugh an' smile. Mist' Wade does, too. He understand.

"Well, just like them trees," I keep on. "The roots 'tween all us done run they course. See down there, towards the bottom of them trees? See there? Them trees is hollow on the inside now. They ain't got much longer. A good wind's gonna come an' blow 'em down here 'fore long. Same with y'all young folks an' us ole folks. Time for y'all young saplins to dig down roots of your own somewhere else an' let the old go. The world we lived in don't exist no moe. That world neither any of the stuff that was in it, like Tara. So, I'm glad you sellin' this place, Mist' Wade. You an' Miz Miranda, y'all go on to 'Lanta or Charleston or wherever. Make a new life an' a his'try for yo'selves there. Folks what really loved this place is either dead or dyin'. It ain't a place for young folks and dreams no moe."

"It make me wonder what's gonna happen to this place once we leave." Mist' Wade ponder outloud. "I mean, will it still be Tara the way it is now, feel the same when folks come out here? Will it still be like home?"

"I don't rightly know, Mist' Wade." I say. "I learnt a long time ago that home ain't bricks an' stones an' wood. It's people an' love an' mem'ries. You got them witcha an' you always at home, no matter where the Lord may send you."

Mist' Wade smile. I can tell he thinkin' 'bout Miz Miranda an' his chiluns.

"You just might be right on that, Aint Dilcey. You just might be right. And I reckon you would know. After all, you been here an' seen it all from the beginnin'."

"Shoal have, Mist' Wade. I shoal have. I been here in these parts since almos' befoe there even was a Tara. And believe me when I tell you, y'all young folks, y'all don't know the half of it." I say with a chuckle. "No, Lawdy. Y'all don't even know the half…"


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO:

DECEMBER 1831

Bein' born a slave is like bein' born intur a world where there ain't no bright daylight. Ev'rything either dusk or dark, but nothin' clear an' bright an' joyous, like a noon in springtime. Just like in the dusk, what li'l sunlight there is, you 'preciate, an', jus' like in the deep night, you wish for light. But wasn't ever no bright, sunny days, honey. No, never none of them. Not if you a slave. Seem like there was always shadows chasin' you if you was a slave.

These folks in Clayton County, all they know is Ole Dilcey what live out on Tara. Dilcey, that half Injun woman what was Mist' John Wilkes' head woman over on Twelve Oaks (when there was such a place), an' what was Mist' Gerald O'Hara's maid at Tara back when Ellen O'Hara still moved around in her softly swayin' hoops prayin' for the Damned and healin' the sick like the good woman she was. Dilcey, who was ole Pork's wife, Prissy's mammy an' what picked cotton with the famous Scarlett O'Hara durin' her days of poverty; that's all these young folks know. But there was a life I had befoe I come to Georgia. I bare witness to it now, while I still got breath in my body to tell the story...

My firs' mem'ry of the known world was the year when I turnt six. I remember a lot 'bout them times. Just 'cause I'm ole now doan mean I done forgot it. Firs' mem'ries always stay with you, same as lookin' in the mirror for the firs' time an' recognizin' yo'self. If that ever leave you, watch out! Death ain't long 'foe it comes for you.

I was born in Northumberland County, North Cahlina on July 4th, 1825 at Springbrook, the plantation of Reverent Jeremiah an' Miz Prudence Wakefield. I thanked God all my life for that day, not just for life itself, but also 'cause at least I knew 'xactly the day of my birth, which was moe than could be said for mos' slaves. When you wasn't considered real folks, all what was important was the year, that way white folks theyselves could keep up just in case you had to be sole. On a good sized place, it might be wrote in the big plantation book, but mos' slaves where I was from wasn't on a big place. Mama never knew how ole to the day she was, nor my pa. Of course, Pa was a Injun an' thought the whole birthday thing was just white folks' vanity, anyhow.

"It doan matter how ole you are." He yuster say to my mama. "All what count is how good you are."

Funny he would say somethin' like that. The way Pa raised hell all the short days of his life. But, I reckon the state of a person soul an' the state of a person mind is two diffunt things. Lord knows I cain't judge him. I done raised my share of hell, too.

My papa was called Apenimon, which, from what I understood by other folks what got Cherokee blood, meant somethin' or 'nother like: "He who is worthy of trust". Mama yuster call him "Penny", not only for short but also 'cause she say that was all he was worth.

My daddy was a fine man. I look just like him. All my boys favored him real strong, too, 'specially as chiluns. He was way yond over six feet tall, a good few inches taller than my Pork was, with dark brown hair what looked blood red when he stood in front of light. His eyes was deep set an' so keen they almos' looked like a Chinaman's an' his nose was long, then flared out flat at the end like an' ole arrowhead. It made him look uppidy, like he was lookin' down at you with contempt. When he come see us when I was a chile, he always swing me up high an' just kill hisself laughing, singing over an' over: "Adsila! Adsila! Ain't no girl fine as she. An' just like a blossom on a tree she shoal is beautiful to me."

Wasn't never a moe beautiful song sung. I was his only daughter out of all his chiluns. I was his pet.

Mama had foe chiluns by my pa. All of us was born intur slavery even though my pa wasn't. Slavery was based on the condition of the mama. If mama a slave, child a slave, even if pa was free, even if pa was white, didn't matter. Lookin' back on it now, after so many years done come an' gone, it was a sad state of affairs. The sadness of it all start long befoe there was a me, or my brothers. Seems like we was a race of folks just meant to know pain.

It all start with my grandmama, Africa Woman. She say that one night her an' her sisters was sleep when the slavers come intur the village with all kindza guns an' knives an' jest started raisin' pure hell in the place. She say it was moe like an' army 'cause it was dozens an' dozen of 'em, an' trust to have niggers doin' they biddin' right 'longside 'em, chile! Well, the fightin' went all that night, she say. Her brothers was kilt, then her mama. They shot great-granddaddy, The Chief, an' cut off his head. Once ev'rybody see that, they all weep an' wail an' give up, so heartbroke it wuzn't even worth it to go on 'cause he was their leader as was a real good man, Africa Woman say. They burnt down the village so folks wouldna even knew there was one there but for the ashes. Then they chained all the women an' chiluns together in one line an' all the men together in anudden an' marched 'em three days 'til they get to the coast.

They stay three days in what look to Africa Woman to be some kinda castle or fort, an' there was thousands an' thousands of darkies there from all over, all of 'em speaking diffunt tongues an' wearin' diffunt clothes an things. Some blue-black, some dark red, some dirt brown, uddens chocolate-colored, all of 'em weepin' an' wailin', some so heartbroke they get physically sick, some in dumbfounded trance from shock, uddens gone crazy from stress an' grief, and whoever try to fight the slavers get whupped or kilt outright, womens got snatched up by guards an' whisked off to be raped in rooms at gunpoint or swordpoint. All of 'em, a mass of teemin' black pain from a whole part of the world, waitin', wishin' they was dead, anything was better than to get dragged on a ship an' go sailin' off …to Doom.

Wasn't no regard to who you come with once a ship come to fetch you off, she say. Famblies an' friends an' tribes got separated real quick. Africa Woman never saw her sisters again, never found out what happened to them. She say the day they all was to be loaded on the boats, they was together but as the big swell of the crowd moved towards the port the crowds just swallowed them up as if they'd been drowned in an ocean of black flesh. The slavers an' they black pets would come through an' take a hundid, a hundid-fifty at a time, strip 'em down, load 'em up and off!

Africa Woman say she spent the next two months on a ship, lurchin' back an' forth, too hot in the day, too cole at night, laying in her own piss an' shit an vomit for up to three days at a time, listenin' to folks go crazy, listenin' to folks dyin', smellin' folks dyin', one by one all the voices what was heard at the start would die away, either from weariness, heartbreak, sickness or out an' out Death. A few weeks intur it, she say, wasn't much need in talkin' no moe. She say it wasn't nothin' but the Good Spirit what kept her sane. Then ev'ry now an' again, up to the deck for some air an' water, to walk around an' work out what kinks in your body what could be worked out, a bit of food what wasn't much, an' back down to the hole. The dead folks got thoed intur the sea. Africa Woman say some of 'em was just sick, wasn't even dead yet. Jus' thoed over 'cause they was a burden. She say from the deck you could see the sharks circlin' 'round the boat waitin' on the bodies. They were still moe blessed than the strong an' the livin', she say.

They stop at what look to be an island first, with palm trees an' houses with bright-colored walls. They stay there three days. What all folks she knew from the ship get separated, some sole to white folks on that island, then the ones what was the fittest, like her, got sole to what folks then called The States, meanin' North Cahlina an all the uddens, 'cause there, slave traders got a better price for darkies than in the islands. Island darkies got worked a heap harder an' died after a couple years, so I hear.

When Africa Woman get to Cahlina, she say she was 'round 'bout fifteen, which wuzn't long after Gen'ral George Washington smote the English an' all the white folks was free to form America. She worked on two other 'bacco plantations 'fore she ended up in Northampton County where she become property of Judge Isaiah Wakefield an' all his folks.

And ev'rysince then we was Wakefield darkies. Africa Woman met my grandpappy who was part white an' a slave an' they had a heap of chiluns what ended up scattered acrost all of the Wakefields' fambly's plantations. I never knew just how many of 'em there actually was 'cause some died an some was sole long 'foe I was born. My mama, Dolly, was the younges' of all an' a pet to Judge Wakefield's daughter, Miz Prudence. It was on Miz Prudence place where I was born. She carried my ma an' Africa Woman there after Judge Wakefield die and she marry her second cousin, Reverent Jeremiah P. Wakefield.

Mama was pretty, but Africa Woman whurried 'bout her 'cause Mama wasn't smart.

"Yo' granddaddy's folks is too shiftless an' lazy. That's why your ma is like she is." Africa Woman say to me one time when I was a li'l girl. She couldn't rightly stand darkies what was born intur slavery 'specially Gran'pappy's folks. She said they made her sick, made her feel 'shamed 'cause they didn't have pride an' was too stupid to even realize it. "They ain't got no notions in they head an' wount take the time tur think or even learn how. Always beggin' an' dependin' on the white man for scraps, just like dogs an' pigs. They makes awful good niggers. They got just enough white blood in 'em to make 'em usless for anything else!"

That's why when Mama got with Pa, it was a scandal an' poe Africa Woman, she didn't know what to do. Mama yuster run off the place sometime like a lot of young darkies did on Sundays an' go to other plantations. One time, she run across my daddy at a neighborhood place at a barbecue. They eye each other an' go back an' forth for a while, then Mama turnt up pregnant. Wuzn't no real problem with that. Moe niggers, moe money for the Big House. Usually, a marster be glad to hear a pickaninny done got in the motherly way, but not with Mama, honey. No, Lordy.

See, my pa was free an' Injun, with land an' slaves of his own. Oh yes, chile. Injuns owned slaves. Some owned moe than a few, too. I reckon I ought to say it was my Injun grandpappy, Chief Oocheegoombee, what owned the slaves. He own lots an' lots of land in Northumberland County back in the ol' days, so much land that the white folks was jealous of 'em. Back in them days, 'lot like now, folks what wasn't white wasn't s'posed tur have too much or be too proud.

Oocheegoombee was a good man from what I hear, but too soft-hearted. Africa Woman yuster say he was too much spirit an' not enough flesh. He think all he had tur do was be friends with the whites an' they'd leave him be. He was a fool tur think that. Our marster, Reverent John Wakefield, acted all by the by, like he was real smart friends with Ole Chief, althewhile he had it out for him. Ole Chief, he come by the place from time tur time, sit out behind the Big House underthe arbor wid' Reverent an' drink homemade wine on Saturdays. Reverent try to explain to him 'bout Jesus an' the Christian God.

Now, Ole Chief loved an' respected ev'rybody, but, one thing he couldn't rightly stand was to see folks try to cram they views down other folks' th'oats. He respect Reverent good enough, but he he tell him he couldn't accept Jesus 'cause he wasn't raised on it. Plus, he believed it was wrong the way white folks kept niggers, 'specially folks like the Reverent what was s'posed tur be so saved, sanctified and Holy Ghost-filled. Ole Chief, he read The Word for hisself, an' could quote it just as good as any white though he didn't buy intur most of it. He call Reverent a hypocrite one day when he was drunk. Told him that there wuzn't no White Heaven an' Nigger Heaven 'ccording to the Bible, just one Heaven for ev'rybody. He tell Reverent ain't nothin' un-Biblical 'bout ownin' darkies but it something un-Biblical 'bout white folks thinkin' they superior to other folks.

See, Ole Chief yuster free his niggers after a certain 'mount of time. He would buy a nigger, let him or her work off whatever he paid for 'em, then set 'em free. Lord, the white folks didn't like that! But, 'round the time I was born, wasn't much could be done. Oocheegoombee had too much money, an' friends in mighty high places, too.

Oocheegoombee was a mighty man, with twelve strong sons and twenty beautiful daughters they say. Pa was his favorite, and, 'cause of that, Pa grew up spoiled an' a li'l uppidy, too. Not to mention, once he grew up into hisself, Pa was hansome and a downright hoe when it came to the ladies. He flash a smile, show off a li'l of that big red chest of his, an' the womens just melted like butter, honey. He knowed he was good-lookin' an didn't mind laying up with womens of all colors, either. He had darky gals, Injun gals, even white gals after him. Africa Woman told me one time 'bout how one gal, a white woman who was friends with Miz Prudence, even went so far as to kill herself 'cause her pa wouldn't let her marry him.

"She took a notion of romance wid a red man," Africa Woman say. "She saw yo' Pa an' was willin' tur leave her world lock, stock an' barrel to be with him. Her pa told her no, said he'd soon see her dead 'fore he 'low her to marry a savage. She say she agreed, went upstairs to the attic of they house an' hung herself."

"Did he love her?" I ask.

"Naw", say Africa Woman. "Your Pa only love one woman, that was your Ma. Ev'ry other woman he like the way a man like a mistress or a hoe. When ev'rybody find out that white woman die, he jus' keep on like it mean nothin'. Mens can do that, separate lust from feelin's. Mos' womens, we mix the two. That's why your Ma, pretty as she was, never want another man but your Pa."

But, like I say, Pa was a hoe. He had chiluns ev'rywhere, chile; all over the County an' a couple up in Virginia, too. When Africa Woman heard it was he what got Mama intur trouble, Mama say she shake her head an' say:

"Great Spirit, a red rooster from way off done got intur my hen house an' plumb ruined my prized hen!"

Africa Woman liked Pa 'cause he had a good character but she say the reason he an' Mama was so right for each other was 'cause they was both was careless an' stupid. She say Pa was careless an' stupid from too much pride an' arrogance. Pa was a troublemaker an' hellraiser. If a white cross him, he didn't mind doin' whatever tur get even, - even if it mean murder. Him an' his gang of friends would ambush white folks on the road at night, steal they money, beat 'em, an' raise all kindza hell. Pa was on the run all the time. She say Ma was careless an' stupid from puttin' on airs an' not wantin' to learn 'bout the world for what it was. Mama, Africa Woman say, liked to live in fantasy worlds the way rich, spoilt white womens what had too much time on they hands did. Mama was a house nigger an' Miz Prudence's pet. She didn't have tur do anything anybody tole her 'less Miz Prudence herself okay'd it, didn't have tur lift a finger lest the Reverent or Miz Prudence say "Fetch!". 'Cause of that, she was uppidy tur mos' niggers an' none too few whites. Pa saw that spirit in her an' mistook it for pride an' dignity. It was an easy mistake. He mistook those same thangs as pride an' dignity in himself, too.

Pa, he wanted Mama somethin' awful, but Reverent wouldn't never sell her to Pa. Even Ole Oocheegoombee come to inquire for a price but no, no. Reverent, he say race mixin' was evil an' an abomination befoe the Lord an' he knew if Mama an' us chiluns was bought by Pa or Ole Chief we would be taint amount tur free. Reverent woulda died 'fore he let that happen. 'Said it wouldn't be right havin' mongrel Injun/darky halfbreeds runnin' 'round the County thinkin' they was free an' just as good as white.

But there I come, born intur nothin', in the front room of a dirt floor slave cabin when my gran'daddy was a king and my gran'mama was a princess. Yes Lord, here I come, born on a day when white folks had they slaves barbeque for them so they could celebrate bein' free althewhile ownin' niggers same way those same white folks was niggers to the King of England. There I come - Adsila to Pa, Dilsey to everyone else save God - too black-skinned to be Injun, too Injun to be African, an' not enough white to be of a help to myself. Lord, what a mess! Cain't fault nobody, either. God never promise in His word life gonna be easy or fair. All you can do is pray for easiness to come, be fair to other folks when you can, an' pray God bless you althewhile.

And I was a happy chile; sheltered 'cause I was Mistress' pet's daughter, sheltered still moe 'cause ole Africa Woman was there with them large black eyes, watchin' my ev'ry move like a hawk do a mouse. And I was happy 'cause I was a stupid chile with blinders over my eyes like a horse headed to a glue factory. Then, one cold morning come the December after I turnt six, the life - the slave life - began in earnest. The blinders came off. This old world become all to clear to li'l Dilcey.

I yuster carry 'round the basket of keys for Miz Prudence. Every mistress of a plantation had a gal what carried 'round her keys for her. Wherever Miz Prudence go on the place - whether it be tur the kitchens, the smokehouse, the commissary, the quarters, I tag 'long right behind her wid that big wicker basket of keys just a-janglin' in my ears. All I remember well of Miz Prudence is the back of her: light auburn hair in top-knots, wide white collars an' big sleeves. an' tiny pantalettes peekin' from under petticoats an' pinafores. No matter how cole or wet it was, she always wore slippers what tied up 'round her ankles. It was cause of that she stayed sick. Didn't matter, though. Being sickly was the fashion back in them days.

This particular day, though, I remember I was in the front parlor waitin' on Miz Prudence to finish her mornin' toilet when I hear the wheels of a wagon spin up tur the Big House. The fat ole Reverent was rockin' in his chair an' smokin' a pipe when I hear him get up an' walk what sound like towards the edge of the porch.

"Praise God!" I hear Reverent holler with a clap of his hands. "God smote the red bastard down in Justice!"

Then I hear feet scurryin' ontur the porch. Mama shot like a dart down the stairs in the hall, her hand to her th'oat like she was chokin'. Africa Woman an' all the other house darkies follow behind, silent but swift like haints. Then, I 'member my mama screamin' something terrible, then all kindza moans and wailings from other folks, and Judge Wakefield hollarin' 'bout Damnation and God's will. I knew I wuzn't s'posed to be out there 'cause back then chiluns wuzn't s'posed to be nowhere 'til they was called upon, but, when I hear all that noise, something deep down told me to run out ontur that porch. So, I did.

Mama was screamin' in Africa Woman's arms, tears blindin' her eyes such she didn't even see me, all the other house darkies was moanin' and wringin' they hands in sorrow. Mama was in such a state she was kickin' up dust like a buckin' colt. Africa Woman look at me without pity or sorrow, just as blank as a cloudy grey sky. All of the other darkies was either dumb with stupid shock or heavy in grief. Judge Wakefield, he look at me, hollar:

"You! Dilcey! You git on from here an' git in the house! Git in the house 'fore I whips you 'for disobeyin' me!"

But I didn't go.

"Dilcey!" he holler again, but I don't pay him no mind. I look up at an upstairs window an' see Miz Prudence staring down at me, all topknots, ribbons an' leg-o-mutton sleeves. She see me, shake her head, put a hankster to her face, snatch her head away an' disappear intur the house.

I saw the wagon down by the hitchin' post. It never moved but seemt tur rush towards me while everythang 'round it didn't move. Mama was a crazy woman, screamin' an' wailin' only God knew what , fightin' an' strugglin' to get free but Africa Woman's hold was like iron chains. Africa Woman's big black eyes lock into mines like they allus did when she want to speak without sayin' a word. She nod her head to her left towards where the wagon was. I don't remember walkin' down there to it but, some kinda way, I had to have done it. I don't remember feelin' scared or being any other way than what I was, - innocent an' full of questions. I went round to the back, pulled back the sheet...and there was Pa, eyes open, dead, shot clean through the head. Something rushed up out of me. I couldn't feel him 'round me anymore. The sight of him hit me like a punch square in the stomach.

I threw up an' fainted.

That was the first time I got caught by a shadow.


End file.
